Kinney Is Somewhat Turned
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: Brian was finally forced to cave in and confess his feelings for a certain Justin Taylor. If anyone asked him, though, he would deny until he died.


**KINNEY IS SOMEWHAT TURNED**

* * *

Well, for starters- Brian Kinney was most definitely _not_ in a relationship.

The notion was odious as it was preposterous, and he took great offence to the allegations.

First of all, it was worth pointing out that a certain Justin Taylor was still a squeaky, annoying, overly sentimental, bug-eyed, brat. And nobody but a Saint could ever find such characteristics attractive, so for all intents and purposes, he still remained gloriously unattached. Just as he should be. (Never mind said Justin was also artistic, sort of nice to look at… maybe a little cute- the irritating outweighed the good.) So no matter how many times said Taylor liked to go into his childish sing-song mode with his favourite lines: "Brian Kinney gives a shit" and "You love me _so_ much!"- such claims could never be substantiated.

End of story.

He had not defected. Alright, there were certain elements to their… acquaintance that might bear suspicious resemblance to, God forbid- a… _(cough, swallow)_ relationship. He was somewhat willing to concede that Justin apparently lived with him. Still, there was an explanation for that; Chris Hobbs had almost killed Justin, and since Mother Taylor was unable to get through to him, he had been natural solution.

Once Justin got better, out he went. (Well... maybe…)

Fair enough, they were back to making love most nights. Where was the harm in that? He was an irresistible man in his sexual prime, Justin a lovesick teenager. It couldn't be helped that the boy was head over heels, could it? And how could he deny himself ass? Furthermore, just as that ass-clown Howard Bedwetter had claimed, he was _also_ to be found haunting the back room of Babylon being sucked off by faceless men- sometimes even fucking like a randy teenager against the walls! No relationship could properly work that way.

He would have to admit the two went out together a lot- often to Babylon, and danced till late. But who didn't? And seeing as they apparently lived together (which was, of course, a temporary arrangement), it made sense they… sort of accompany each other to Babylon. And as had already been established, he went there for the hot abs and bulging asses of OTHER guys. Innocent as innocent can be.

The only things he was really guilty of was this unexplained protectiveness he felt for Justin- but that was out of his compassion after the bashing. After all, nobody could forget standing helplessly as someone bled out of their skull, wondering if that person would even make it to the next day… It would have been heartless and irresponsible- even for him- to leave Justin's life after that. He felt personally involved- from a platonic view, obviously. So of course he had helped the boy learn to throw again, learn to walk the streets and stay at home alone without freaking out… successfully regained his trust so they could fuck like mad in bed once more. All perfectly legit and part of the job.

Mother Taylor would be proud. Sort of.

So, in conclusion, Brian noted smugly, he was most definitely not in any kind of relationship. End of essay. Top marks. Admission to Havard.

"What are you smiling at?"

Justin's unexpected question cut into his stream of thought- clearly he was being watched (wasn't he supposed to be drawing?).

"What the fuck business is it of yours- don't you have homework to be doing?"

"Depends what kind of homework you mean…"

Brian tried- _really_ tried- to pretend he didn't catch the double meaning behind those words. Instead, he raised that condescending eyebrow- his exquisite _"What the fuck are you talking about?"_ face. He did his best not to let his cock twitch violently as Justin walked towards the couch, leaned over the back until there was nothing but a hair's breadth between their lips.

"_That_ kind of homework, huh?" he deadpanned. "Aren't you a little young to be thinking that way?"

"Very funny."

A weird kind of silence settled down between the two, a kind of halt for time itself. He just knew they were going to kiss… passionately (of course, that part coming from Justin, not him), but was still going to try to fool himself that this was all a big joke. That incey-little Taylor would totter off back to his computer and continue emulating the works of fucking Leonardo da Vinci or whoever. That he could go back to lying on his couch, staring into mid-air, making up stupid essays about topics with no relevance to him whatsoever.

But of course that wasn't going to happen. He barely had time to breathe before Justin's mouth enveloped his, then his… flatmate had somehow vaulted over the back of his couch- next thing he knew, Justin was lying on top of him, and their kisses were steadily growing deeper. Mmm, that was nice. No, it was… tolerable. A passing form of entertainment that…

Alright, so he moaned a little… allowed Justin's tongue between his own lips. Only because it got him so fucking hot- and being horny was damn good for his health. Medical benefits counted as a great reason, didn't they? This tongue and lips exercise was nothing more than an outlet for his perpetually sexual readiness. Oh God… now Justin was grinding on him- stirring up all that beautiful heat and friction between their cocks- felt hard as rock down there. _All the better to ram up his tight little ass with, haha…_

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Justin whispered breathlessly into his mouth.

"That's my line, you pretentious twat. Now, how about _you_ roll over?"

In response, Brian felt his arms being pinned to the couch. "Make me."

Honestly? With the mood he was in, this was one of the rare, secret occasions he might have let Justin fuck him until midnight- he was that hot. Of course, afterwards, it would be off to Babylon to find another twink who could give one hell of a blowjob. Eventually. But to get back on topic: he had to keep up the reputation, and all. The first commandment was that in this… arrangement, he was top, Justin was bottom. End of story. No arguments.

"You are too young, inexperienced…"

"And you're too old!"

"Fuck… you!" Before he knew what he was doing, he had spanked the boy. Nice ass. Firm, soft, tight. Still room for improvement, of course. "What have I told you about getting smart with me?"

"You'll spank me? That isn't much of a punishment, you know…"

That was another thing with this so-called Justin Taylor. Always there to bite back with some clever retort. Where the hell did he learn to be so defiant? No wonder his mother complained about his attitude! Honestly, though- it wasn't just that. Being Brian Kinney, he was used to the privilege of the role; being adored, having his word treated as law. However, this cocky teenager, whilst understandably crazy about him, refused to be his puppet. It was surprising, at first- rather insulting, too. He couldn't remember the last time he had been silenced in a war of words- and by somebody twelve years his junior (fuck, he was old)- how embarrassing.

To combat this, Brian had stuck with his technique of trying to put Justin off him by being an asshole. It had worked, at first; he had succeeded in making the boy cry buckets a day or so after they first met. Unfortunately, he felt guilty, and not long afterwards, they had tumbled back into bed together. By then it was too late; Justin was onto him, and his prized witty insults no longer produced the desired effect. It was a sad day when the only response to one of his typically surly retorts was a trail of stupid kisses down his neck:

"_I'm killing you with kindness,"_ Justin had whispered silkily in between the silly, inappropriate routine. _"Proven to be a highly effective technique… for achieving one's goals…"_

And the constant age remarks were a deal breaker. Couldn't Justin at least understand that being thirty was really fucking stressful? The next time he was labelled an "old man", sparks would fly.

Insolent little fuck. He still hadn't forgotten the time Justin stole his credit card before running off to New York, among many other sins. Definitely _not_ an attractive attribute in a man. He wasn't even a man anyway- too small and artistic. To be sure, there was no danger of THE Brian Kinney becoming infatuated with said Justin Taylor any time soon.

He was still kissing him, though. A lot.

Brian snorted and pulled away abruptly; that was enough saliva for today.

"Come on, go and do your real homework," he urged, reaching out for a cigarette. "I'm busy."

"What- lying on your back, smoking? And I'm way ahead with my coursework."

"That's wonderful, dear. Now go back to your computer and continue being a fucking nerd."

"I love that coming from you, the old Chemistry Club regular!"

"Haven't I already explained to you that-"

"—you learnt to build the bomb to blow up the school, but Mikey talked you out of it, yes- you have."

It took a few seconds- and several puffs of smoke, for Brian to get over this latest display of impertinence. Jesus, one of these days he was going to have to find some decent tape and clamp this boy's mouth shut.

"Don't fucking finish my sentences- and it's Michael, to you. I'm the one who gets to call him Mikey."

"Lucky you," Justin added sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Would you stop answering me back? Christ- didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

"She did, but spending so much time with you has rubbed off on me- amongst other things…" Brian resisted the urge to slap that smug, teasing smile off Justin's face, brush away the finger that was currently trailing fire down his neck. And why the hell was the boy still lying on top of him when he had been told to get on with his beloved artwork?

"Justin…" he began warningly.

"Alright, alright; I'm going, see? I am now standing on the floor… and now I am walking back to my desk-"

"_My_ desk, you mean…"

"—and I am now sitting in- _your_- chair, and using this stylus to-"

"Jesus- enough with the commentary already?"

All he got was a stupid giggle in return.

"You are so fucking annoying," Brian asserted in a conversational tone, taking another unhealthy drag at his cigarette. "You should be in military school, you know- that would shake you up a little. Any of your clever little answers and you'd be doing a hundred press-ups under Lieutenant Major Shut Your Little Teenage Trap!"

"Fuck off."

"—Because I don't know why I put up with you," he continued as though he had not heard Justin's surly reply.

There was a silence, after that, during which time, Brian watched perfectly formed tendrils of smoke escape his parted lips, and sail up into mid-air… Then:

"It's because you love me, that's why."

_An artist can never have too high an opinion of himself, could he,_ Brian snorted.

"The fuck I do."

~ooooOOOOoooo~

A few days later, and he had a massive problem on his hands- so to speak.

He knew a certain someone was pissed off- hurt, maybe- with him for fucking that Zucchini Man on his couch. It had only been for the sake of his own ego, really- to prove he had not been trapped in the endless horrors of a monogamous relationship. He'd been shopping for food with Justin, for fuck's sake- if that wasn't the spitting image of man and wife, what was? So, it had been _absolutely essential_ at the time to prove he wasn't beholden to one guy: he'd walked right up to Zucchini Man and offered sex with nothing more than a wink and an address scrawled on the back of Justin's coupon.

Turned out Zucchini Man had quite a big zucchini- which was nice. He would never look at his expensive couch quite the same way again.

But tonight was not that other time; he was _dead horny_, and he wanted Sunshine. Problem was, no amount of caressing and kissing would produce any response.

"You're not still upset about Zucchini Man, are you? It was nothing, I don't even remember it…"

Christ- was he actually justifying himself? Actually almost insisting that he thought nothing of his past fuck (true), so that he could… get back into Justin's good books? Wow, nobody could accuse him of being a heartless shit now. Since when did he give a fuck what anyone thought of who he rammed it into? Was he ill, by any chance? Did he eat or drink something funny at the Diner? Or high? Was it time for his medication?

But no- apparently Justin wasn't too bothered about the whole episode with Zucchini Man, claimed he was alright with "just you being you". Alright then… _so could they fuck?_

"Why am I here?" came the sudden demand.

_Was he really asking—No, best pretend he didn't know why._ Without missing a beat, Brian launched into a patronising biological explanation for his existence, hoping to shake off the awkward question.

It didn't work; he was practically accused him of allowing him to stay solely based on sympathy for his predicament. There was nothing he could say to that, at least not immediately, or accidentally revealing something he could not express in words.

Lost for words, Brian allowed his gaze to wander from Justin to the computer, to his idle fingers.

And as Justin walked out on him without even waiting for an answer, he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. After staring blankly at the computer screen- some latest project in the making- he grew sick of the silence, decided to head out for a drink. Alcohol never failed to make the best of a shitty night. It was his last resort- because for some reason, he didn't want to go fuck anyone else.

Yep, he was definitely ill. He'd see his disco pharmacologist tomorrow, take a prescription.

One drink followed another. He was slumped over each glass like some miserable old fuck contemplating the failure of his life. Definitely not how he had expected to spend his evening. Why was he so upset? The whole incident was nothing- just a minor understanding. Alright, it wasn't fucking minor: the lad clearly wasn't going to hang around where he felt he was not wanted. Too late, Brian wished he could tell Justin that… What? There was nothing… safe he could say.

Fuck Zucchini Man. This was all his fault. At the very least, why did Justin have to find out?

"I'll have another…" he ordered the bartender tonelessly. "And another after that."

Fuck his life. Fuck his irresponsible, inconvenient emotions. Fuck being stupidly attached to some… teenager. Fuck everything. He took an unhealthy gulp of his drink, and felt no better than before. Great: even alcohol wasn't helping. What next, suicide? Given that he was already thirty, it might not be such a bad idea.

"Hasn't the boy been through enough without you causing him even more pain?"

And look who came to watch the show- none other than Pittsburgh's own nosy loudmouth, Debbie Novotny! Exasperated, Brian curtly informed her to stay out of it. He wasn't in the mood to be shouted at- had already been made out to be an asshole. Once was enough. He just wanted to drink until a horde of paramedics were called in to pump his stomach.

No such luck, of course; once Debbie got started, there was no stopping her. The best thing to do was to ignore her chatter, and hope she would fuck off.

"…despite your attempts to never let another heart touch yours, that little, _persistent_ kid has somehow gotten in under the wire. You love him, don't you?"

_Shit._ Brian sunk his head lower into his arms, gazing sightlessly into the neon lights until his eyes hurt. Fuck Debbie- she _knew._ Always had, always would. He was an idiot to think he could hide from her, of all people. Not that he answered, of course, simply shifting his head around as though he had not heard. _"You love him, don't you?"_ The words played back in his head a thousand times, and along with it, that sequence of events that had led to this sad conclusion. Love. Fucking pathetic thing. He could run, but he could not hide; no matter how he had tried to avoid the trap, the evidence had been stacking up for some time…

Sneaking looks at Justin the first time they had dinner together. God, was he really saying that? And when Justin had oh-so-subtly let it be known that he had told another admirer _" I told him he could see me in his dreams"_ after that horrendous King of Babylon night, he could remember staring at him with a small smile, as if there was nobody else at table. Then there was dancing with him at prom just to make the boy happy- most obvious sign ever. Making out in front of everyone at said prom. Dancing and acting stupid on the way back to the car. Sharing a long kiss outside said car. Desperately running after Chris Hobbs to try to save Justin. Crying outside the hospital ward. Keeping watch over Justin, then letting him move in- again. Taking the time to rehabilitate him- even going to the trouble of speaking to a fucking shrink… just so Justin could overcome the trauma of his bashing, so his life could be normal again.

Sitting here, drunk and upset because fucking Justin stormed out on him.

"Thought so," Debbie announced. "…Tell him. Tell him what you could never tell Michael."

Finally, she left.

Brian was grimacing, playing with the rim of his cup for quite some time. Tell him- what? He wasn't that kind of demonstrative person- that was the only honest assessment he had of himself so far. And despite what silent confession Debbie had managed to extract from him, monogamy was not for him; there was no way he was going to stop fucking as many hot numbers as he could. He'd rather die. So, maybe he should just sit quietly and accept the arrangement was over.

Then… he remembered that if he did, he would go home alone, and the loft would be dead silent. No more stupid comments, no more making out on couches, no more evening and morning sex marathons. No more laughs, no shenanigans in the shower, no more… coming home to find Justin—

_Alright, fuck it! _

He slammed down a couple of bills on the counter, stormed out—to find that idiot twink who had wormed his way into a heart of stone.

Sure enough, the target was sighted at the heart of Babylon's thumping dance floor (where else?), making out with some other guy. _Asshole._ He rushed down the stairs, barging through the throng of dancing queers just to reach one.

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

"Fuck off!"

Not the most conventional way of saying, _I would like to have a chat with your play mate_, but manners were a skill he had yet to acquire. Now he was standing, almost vulnerable in front of Justin- who was clearly not pleased to see him. For a moment, he studied the expectant sea-blue eyes fixed on his, wondered whether run whilst he could, or just close the gap between them and… No, he needed to just hurry the hell up with this grand old attempt-at-a-reconciliation-speech… Or something like that. In the rush to try and salvage his reputation, there had been no time to rehearse something coherent inside his head; he'd downed too many shots for that. All that was left was the raw honesty brought on by his drunkenness.

"You were right. The reason I took you in is because you took a bat to the head… But it's not the reason I want you to stay."

Still- he had to lay down the law- make it clear that Justin was not to expect pure heterosexuality on account of their… arrangement.

"…We're queers. If we're together, it's because we want to be, not because there are locks on our doors. So if I'm out late, just assume I'm doing what I want to be doing- fucking. And when I come home, I'll-" he took a sharp breath- "also be doing exactly what I want- coming home to you."

He would never admit to being so tense watching Justin consider his Terms and Conditions, was even mentally preparing himself for a "no"- what the fuck would he do then? God, best not to think about it. At least he could tell himself that he tried, and fucked up for good. Life would go on- he hoped.

"Alright," came the unexpected answer. "I want some things too."

_What?_ Fine, better just listen and hope nothing he was asking was outrageous- like $2,500 a month in child support, or some other stupid shit like that. A brand new Mercedes? Forget it. (However, if it involved any kind of sexual gratification, then he would, of course, be more than willing to look into it…) What was the worst Justin could ask for, anyway? He was an artist, and they were always so fucking airheaded, always seeking pleasure in the symbolic and simple life rather than materialistic gains. The total opposite to himself.

_So, relax._

"You can fuck whoever you want, as long as it's not twice- same for me."

_How the hell am I supposed to remember-? Well, at least I can fuck; so far, so good. _

"—And no names or numbers exchanged."

_Yep, fine. _

"And no matter where you are, who you're with- you always come home. By two."

_Fuck off!_

"Four," he argued.

"Three." Justin laughed, and somehow Brian felt himself smiling back. Fucking sentimental idiot. "And one more thing; you don't kiss anyone on the mouth- but me."

_Could be worse._ But Brian knew he was smiling still, knew his previous terrible, drunken mood had dissipated entirely. Knew they had made up and that damn nosy Debbie was dead right. He broke eye contact for a moment, trying to shake off this sudden strange feeling he had in his stomach… but then what was the use? He was on a dance floor, surrounded by bodies, in front of someone he could not believe in his wildest dreams he actually_ (cough, deep breath) _wanted… Whose lips suddenly seemed so appealing… Without thinking, he stepped closer, determined to seal the deal.

It was so easy for their lips to touch. The contact was almost… meant to be. Brian was willing to admit for a couple of seconds how much he wanted it so badly; it was there in the way his arm slid around Justin's shoulder, pulling him closer. The combination of wetness, heat and the thump of Babylon was enough to lose him in the moment, mouth working effortlessly against Justin's, pouring his reluctant confession into every liquid movement. How long he was there, drowning in this fucking sentimental reverie, he had no idea. Perhaps they kissed for a couple of minutes, perhaps a year.

But he knew- just as he had said- that he was doing _exactly what he wanted to do. _

If anyone asked him, though, he would deny until he died.

_**~ooooOOOOoooo~**_

* * *

**I hope that the essential Brian Kinney came across even as he finally made his silent confession of love.**


End file.
